The Kissing Deadline (3 page)

Spencer strode forward. A large
Sweet
Sixteen
banner lay across his armload of crepe paper, balloons,
and pink paper plates. The banner’s slick silver surface slid an
inch with each of his steps. When he reached the wall, he opened
his arms, letting the load drop.

“We’re just bringing in some more birthday
supplies.” Mom placed a plate of cookies on the table.

Cassie and Spencer had both inherited their
mom’s coloring: strawberry blonde hair and dark blue eyes. Neither
inherited her interest in cooking. Mom sighed. “Next month, you'll
be blowing out candles.” She patted Cassie's head then pointed to
the plate. “Lemon bars.” After grabbing two empty glasses, she left
to their chorus of thank you.

Not Spencer. He lingered. “What are y’all
talking about?” He eyed the picture of the mole frozen on the TV
screen. “You
know
Dad’s not going to let you have a
pet.”

Cassie felt her face flush. She didn’t want
Spencer snooping in her business. “Get out.”

Spencer grabbed a large handful of lemon
bars, and kicked at her legs. She swung to the side before he
connected. He swaggered past, nibbling on the lemon bar. “You’ll
miss me,” he said as he left.

Sierra snooped through the pile of
decorations and wrapped the sweet sixteen banner across her chest.
She waved like a beauty pageant contestant. “March
24
^th
’s the deadline.”

March 24
^th
wasn’t much time.
I
can play along
.

Brooke tacked a poster against Cassie’s
corkboard then covered the surface with a pillowcase. “We’ll reveal
the kissing plan a little at a time. Keep it fresh.”

Cassie bounced up and down in her seat. “Show
me, show me. What's on the poster? Is it a list of special traits
for me to look for in a guy?” She reached for the bottom of the
pillowcase. What would be on the list? Nice cologne—definitely.
Newly brushed teeth—absolutely. Would biceps matter, eye color? If
she couldn’t kiss a guy with green eyes, she wanted one with brown.
Her fingers touched the stiff edge of the fabric.

Sierra slapped her arm away. “No.”

Powdered sugar had smeared from her fingers
to Cassie’s arm, and she brushed the white dusting off.

“The traits you have to find are male and
human,” Sierra said.

“We have a goal,” Brooke chimed in. “Not
standards.”

Cassie sank back. She’d seen some of Brooke’s
dates. Brooke had standards, low standards maybe, but standards
nonetheless. Besides, she trusted Brooke and Sierra. They’d been
best friends for years. When she and Brooke had made a plan last
fall for Sierra to capture Mike it had gone really well, look at
them now.

“Your guy has to be in high school, and the
kiss has to be on the lips.” Brooke laughed.

Sierra grinned. “Other than that, you're open
to any taker.”

“Thanks.”

“You may not need all ten steps of the
kissing plan,” Brooke said.

Sierra shuddered and held up crossed fingers.
“They get kind of drastic. You don’t want to go past number four if
you don’t have to. We’re not even going to show you all the steps
tonight, because we don’t want to freak you out.”

Brooke revealed row one.
MAKE-OVER
.

Lifting two t-shirts from her backpack,
Sierra tossed one to Cassie. In all its green glory, the lettering
demanded--
KISS ME, I'M IRISH
.

“My family's Scottish, not Irish.” Cassie
held out a strand of her gold-tinted hair to emphasize her
point.

Brooke said, “No one kisses the
Scottish.”

Nodding her red head in agreement, Sierra
held out another t-shirt. “Here's your other choice.” Its pale pink
motto pronounced the wearer to be
Sweet Sixteen & Never Been
Kissed
.

“Ew.” Cassie jerked away but kept her gaze on
the pink monstrosity. “You found that slogan on a t-shirt? That
means I’m not the only un-kissed fifteen-year old out there.”

“You are. We made it ourselves because we
couldn’t find a pre-printed one.”

“Choose between the two, because you’re
wearing one of them.” Brooke looked serious, but a hint of a smile
hid in her eyes.

“Okay, okay.” Cassie tugged the green Irish
t-shirt over her head.

Brooke helped her straighten the hem then
yanked out her ponytail holder, shaking the fabric-coated elastic
in Cassie's face. “The scrunchies end tonight.”

Cassie eyed the scrunchie with regret. She
loved her out-dated, over-sized, puffy scrunchie. Brooke’s sleek
bob made her clueless about the restraints required for long
hair.

“Shake your mane, like you're a jungle cat,”
Sierra demanded.

Cassie shook her hair out and growled. She
could smell her apple-scented shampoo with each shake, more orchard
than jungle.

"
In the jungle. The mighty jungle
,”
Sierra belted out.

Cassie hummed along a moment then quieted at
Brooke’s serious expression.

“We’ll share all our knowledge,” Brooke
promised.

“What you do if the kiss is wet, or dry, or
his tongue is pierced?” Sierra wiggled her un-pierced tongue at
them.

“Don’t scare her,” Brooke said with a
laugh.

“She needs to get the first kiss over with so
she can move on to some of life's other disappointments.” Sierra
moved behind Cassie, placed a palm on each side of her ears, and
tilted her head to the right. “Remember, people always lean right.
Always tilt your head right. Otherwise, you’ll crash into his
nose.” Sierra rubbed the bridge of her nose. “And maybe avoid guys
with braces. You don't want to get cut up if he crashes into
you.”

“Don't think of them as braces. Think of them
as teeth jewelry.” Brooke grinned widely, showing off her own
braces. “She’s right about your head though. Tilt right.”

Brooke revealed row two--
SCHOOL PLAY
.
“There's a whole lot of kissing in this year's play. Sierra and
I’ll throw our auditions. You’ll look so good in comparison, you'll
get the lead.”

Audition for the play so she could get
kissed? Cassie hoped no one discovered her reason for auditioning.
Cringe.

Sierra thrust out her chest and the banner’s
word
sweet
winked at Cassie. She hated the way the banner
mocked her, but she cringed at the idea of going out for the school
play. What if she didn’t get a part? What if she did? How could she
get out of this? “If I'm acting, wouldn't he be kissing the
character? Not me.”

Brooke ticked off the rules with her fingers.
“The kiss fits all our criteria--male, human, on the lips--it will
count.”

Sierra revealed the last of today’s steps.
KISS KIT
. She upended a red, sequin-covered bag, shaped like
lips. The contents of the bag clattered to the coffee table:
toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, and berry-breeze mints.

“Subtle.” Brooke grinned.

“The kiss kit goes in your locker.” Sierra
rattled the purple plastic mint container. “We'll start you on the
berry breeze. They attract creative guys, like band geeks.”

Did Cassie want to attract the creative type?
Didn’t she want a straight arrow on her first try? Was Ryan
creative? Their freshman year, he’d molded a gym sock into an
ashtray and won ‘most original.’ Maybe the mint would attract
Ryan.

Spencer passed the salad to Cassie without
taking any. He had no interest in vegetation. He coveted what was
in the slow cooker in front of Dad. The rich aroma of pot roast had
wafted through the house all day, taunting them.

“So Cass, what are you plans for this
weekend?” Dad asked.

Spencer answered first. “The school
carnival’s Saturday.” He heaped mashed potatoes on his plate and
put the serving dish beside his placemat.

Cassie added salad to her plate and poked
Spencer’s hand with the tongs until he scooted the mashed potatoes
her way. “The school carnival and maybe shop for a Spring Fling
dress?”

Dad sliced into the roast, cutting it into
large wedges. “Don’t you already have a dress?”

Mom said, “We bought her formal last year,
dear, when she was a freshman.”

“Well, that’s a dress, isn’t it?” Dad took a
drink of his iced tea, swallowed, then breathed in a deep
appreciative breath of the roast. He put two large slices onto his
plate.

“I’ve already worn it.”

Spencer held out both hands for the pan of
roast, a look of hunger on his features. Mom dropped his napkin
back in his lap, striving to keep him civilized.

“How many times?” Dad asked.

“Once.” Cassie knew she’d said the wrong
thing. She looked over to Mom for an assist, but Spenser consumed
her attention with his antics. Right now, he held his water glass
in a two-fingered clasp.

“You need a new dress, hmm.” Dad drummed his
fingers on the table. “I might be getting a raise if things go well
with the new boss. He’s coming in this weekend to look at
houses.”

Mom pushed Spencer’s elbows off the mahogany
table. “Is he someone you want to work for?”

“Definitely. Great guy, nice family. In fact,
he's bringing his son with him. He's just Cassie's age.”

Warning signs flashed through Cassie’s
brain.

“How nice, maybe Cassie can show him around.”
Mom gave her a look laden with mom-guilt.

“Uh…”Cassie didn’t want to hang with the
boss’s spoiled offspring. “No thanks.”

* * *

Cassie dropped her stuff in the back of
biology lab and walked up the middle aisle to Paige’s desk. Paige
wore a t-shirt that read
Peace
, and a camera strapped around
her neck. Her perfume smelled like daisies.

“Hi, Paige,” Cassie said. “I want to sign
up.”

Paige looked up from adjusting a lens. “For
what?”

“The play.”

“Oh,” Paige rotated a few more knobs, her
attention on the camera. “You have to be a sophomore.”

“I am a sophomore.”

“They’re being really strict about it.”

“I’m in this class with you,” Cassie said. “I
am a sophomore.”

“Oh.” Paige handed Cassie the signup sheet
with raised eyebrows. “Okay. Sorry, should have noticed you”

Cassie scribbled her name on one of the top
lines, trying not to read any of the names ahead of hers. She’d
rather not know her competition.

Paige eyed her
Kiss Me I’m Irish
t-shirt. “You know St. Patrick’s Day isn’t for a few weeks.”

Cassie didn’t answer but her face burned as
she walked back to her chair. She’d never been so glad to sit in
the back row where no one could see her. She propped open her
Biology textbook and leaned into it, obscuring the slogan.

Sierra beat Mike to their table and turned to
wave at Cassie. Her wave stilled and she pointed a finger at
Cassie’s textbook. Cassie lowered the barricade reluctantly. Next,
she pointed at the scrunchie. Cassie shook her head and resisted
the urge to release her ponytail. Taking her hair down now would
only result in ponytail head. Sierra wouldn’t want that either.

* * *

“Today’s assignment is like ice hockey. One
of you is the stick and one the puck.”

Cassie stared at Coach Ameen. No one played
ice hockey in Texas. She hoped Brooke understood Coach. She snuck a
look at Brooke. Nope, no clue.

Amber’s daily argument with Ryan interrupted
Cassie’s thoughts. Their fight was loud today, and Cassie hoped it
wasn’t about yesterday’s note. “You can heat the pool,” Amber
said.

“No,” Ryan replied firmly. “My parents might
be home.”

While they argued, Coach Ameen passed out
beakers and chemicals, and muttered sports-related words: off
sides, penalty box, and concussions.

“How can you not know where they’ll be?”
Amber said. “Come on, a party will be fun. I have a new
swimsuit.”

“No.”

Coach Ameen reached the last row.

“Coach Ameen, I think I should work with
Kristnaldo because I speak Italian. I can help him with the
instructions.” Amber’s
that’ll teach you
expression was
meant for Ryan. She raised her eyebrows, waiting for Ryan to
protest, but he only stared at her.

Brooke whispered, “What a shock,
Amber-drama.”

Coach went back to his desk. “Fine. Switch
partners with Lynn.”

All gazes swung to Lynn, wondering how she
would take this change. Everyone knew she had a crush on her lab
partner, Kristnaldo.

“Uh, Coach,” Lynn said, “You know I have to
sit in front or I can’t see.” Lynn’s attempt to stake her territory
impressed Cassie. It was a risky move to buck Amber.

Heads swiveled to Coach.

“Slide over then.” Coach waved at the other
front row table, the one by the windows. “Megan, move to the
back.”

The three girls abandoned their seats, Lynn
with a furrowed brow, Megan with a grin, and Amber with an
expression of triumph. Amber’s expression changed to displeasure as
Megan neared Ryan’s table.

No way. Amber wouldn’t let pretty Megan sit
by her boyfriend.

“Megan can’t sit on that half of the room,
unless she’s in front,” Amber protested. “She has to have a direct
line to the door because of her asthma. We form all our cheer
configurations to accommodate her.”

Megan didn’t correct Amber’s B.S. and with
nowhere to go, she stopped and hovered by the last row of
tables.

Cassie could tell by Coach’s expression that
he didn’t care about their dilemma and was about to put a stop to
the annoyance. Amber pointed her finger at the fire drill paperwork
on Coach’s desk. “We documented the restriction in our cheerleading
fire drill plan. I don’t think we’ve drafted a plan for this class
yet. Have we?”

Coach frowned at the abandoned paperwork. His
lips twisted, and he reached toward the office memos. His fingers
hovered over the stack, then changed course and picked up a
magazine instead. He settled back into his chair and his expression
eased. He glanced down the side aisle. “Megan, take Cassie’s spot.
Cassie, go sit with Ryan.”